She says:Jump! You say: How High?

I'd like to present my sincerest apologies to anyone who this does not pertain to, but I have a little venting to do. This is for anyone who let's their significant other change the way they act, talk, move, pee, or look. Why don't you just change your name to his or her name if you're going to start doing everything the way he or she wants you to do it. There is absolutely no reason anyone should make you feel like you can't do something you may even think about wanting to do (Unless of course the crazy bitch/bastard is holding you at gun point). I don't care if they are the most important person to you in the entire world. If you want to do something, do it. If you don't want to do something, don't do it. Easy as that. That brings me to my next subject: Ultimatums. You might as well say my girlfriend/boyfriend/mom/dad/hamster is threatening me. Ultimatums are just a nice way to threaten someone. Last time I checked, being threatened isn't in the top twenty favorite past times of most people in the world. Why put up with it from someone you apparently care about so much that you'll forget about friendships at the drop of a hat? Aronius, aronius on both accounts.


:p

Meet Milo

I have some good news. There has been a new addition to the Doll House. His name is Milo and he is 8 weeks old. He is a light orange and white tabby cat and we adopted him on Sunday from the Toledo Humane Society. He lays like this while I play Insanaquarium on my laptop. Unfortunately, Milo has his days and nights mixed up, preventing him from sleeping through the night. At about three am last night I was one night gown and a pair of spectacles away from driving him to the nearest Chinese takeout place and throwing him in the fryer. Okay that was a little bit uncalled for. I've been slightly sleep deprived lately due to a combination of my little feline friend and a snoring boy who I let sleep in my bed (No offense, Anthony and Milo). For the record, I am very weird about letting guys sleep in my bed and it rarely ever happens. There has been one particular person I have never minded sleeping the night with but for some reason with any other unit of the male species it just doesn't quite work. I toss and turn all night and then eventually give up and sleep somewhere else. Throw some loud snoring six inches away from my face and a kitten curled up and purring on my neck and those are all the makings of REM-less night of sleep for Caroline (Again, no offense Anthony and Milo).

This week:
Monday: Court date at 9:00 Anthropology Exam at 12:30- destined failure
Tuesday: Milo's vet appointment for the recent upper respiratory he has picked up somewhere in the Doll House. My guess is that it came from the lead-based paint.
Wednesday: Just another normal class with Mr. Sears. By the way, I'm skipping that class right now to blog. Could I be any more motivated to learn A&S 250's intended "Great Ideas" as the class title suggests?
Thursday: Food & Nutrition Exam over the first three units and over 200 pages of the text that I have neglected to skim over.
Friday: Getting so incredibly inebriated that I forget about this crazy nonsense week.

To my best friend Chassidy Nicole:

"If you should die before me, ask if you can bring a friend."
- Stone Temple Pilots

I don't want to leave you hanging so I'll keep you up to date with my criminal record. I appeared in court this morning at 9:00 in my sophisticated blue dress, ready to look the law square in the eyes and show it what's up. After putting my purse on a conveyor belt and walking through a metal detector... twice since I set it off the first time and made a loud scene in a very quiet, echoing court house, I was told to sit and wait for my lawyer and greet him when I noticed his presence. This would not be a problem had I not met him about a month ago. I sat on a very uncomfortable bench ignoring blatant stares from fellow awaiting criminals and eyed down every lawyer-looking male in the room trying to remember what in the hell Mr. Mike Skullini looked like when I met him in his office in early September. Finally... a familiar face. I stood up to greet him and he shook my hand with a very "I have no idea who you are" look on his face. This alarmed me a little bit seeing as I wasn't crystal clear on what this guy looked like in the first place. He then lead me to a room with a tiny sign on the door titled "Legal Consultation." We sat down and he read the humiliating police report to me. I gave him sort of a half "yeah fuck my life" smile after he was done reading it and waited to hear what else he advised. He told me how the proceeding was going to go and that the judge was not going to say anything to me or ask me any other questions except for how I decided to plea. We then met the judge in a court room. He was a hunch-backed little man with bad hair and bug eyes. He asked me what I wanted to plea and I replied with "No contest" to the underage possession. He informed me that I have a right to a trial but that it was not advisable since the BG police had a natural light can in their "evidence" locker with my "name" all over it. Here's where I got a little confused. I wanted to say: Excuse me, your honor, but I don't really remember writing my John Hancock on my beer can on the way over to my neighbors for beer pong. I don't remember submitting to any DNA tests, so how in the hell do you even know that the can is mine? Well, needless to say... I decided against this decision. He dismissed me off to the prosecution office where I met with my probation officer. Yes...I...Caroline Bass have a probation officer. I left the courthouse with an underage possession charge, a business card with my probation officers name and phone number, and a debit to my bank account of $450. Could have been worse. I could be in a jail cell wearing an orange jumpsuit and eating saltines and water right now, but instead I'm making the responsible life choice to skip A&S and add to my best friend and I's blog.

Welcome Milo, and new Ruch family kitten.
Come home, Lola & Mischa.

Hello. My name is Chassidy. Would you knock me out? .

I have quite a few things to discuss today.

• Caroline- "May good luck be your friend in whatever you do and may trouble be always a stranger to you." I hope tonight you are able to cuddle with Milo and not a she-man named Pat.

• I'm riding the bus. Minding my own business. Reading Crime and Punishment. When who comes along? None other than my friend with an extremely large posterior. When I got on the bus I put my backpack on the outside seat so no one could sit next to me. That didn't stop bubble butt. She plopped down on my backpack. I tried to wipe the "What the hell, you just smashed my lunch" look off my face and smash myself up against the wall of the bus in hopes of not touching her. So far so good. I put my backpack on the ground and start reading again. I read one line and felt a large elbow digging into my arm. Now when you are on a crowded bus there are some rules that are left unsaid, but everyone should follow. Shower at least 24 hours before you get on the bus. No farting. No burping. No flailing about in your seat. This woman broke two of those rules. She smelled like she peed her pants about 3 years ago and didn't change her pants. So after the elbow incident I look up. She's trying to fit her bus pass back in her 1980s leather wallet that is stuffed to the brim with nonsense cards. She's over there throwing elbows and I'm just trying to read. The ride was very uneventful after she settled down and got comfortable (with her legs spread apart and her sausage arm resting on me.) I put my book away and pull the wire alerting the driver I need to get off and she just sits there. Usually people get up at that point to ensure a smooth transition off the bus. She wasn't that kind of person. The bus stops and she swings her legs out of the seat, but doesn't get up. There is no way in hell I am going to be able to get past her unless I sit on her lap. I'm not fond of smelling like pee, so I opt out of that one. At that point I am just looking at her. She gives a little "humpf" and throws herself out of the seat. Clearly that was too much work for her. I wonder if all this is worth the money I save in gas.

• After the bus shenanigan, I start my journey to my french class. This is by far my favorite class, so I don't mind that it's not even 8:30 and I've already been up for 2 hours. Anyway, as I'm walking through campus I pass one of my french classmates. . . . going to opposite direction. "Hmmm maybe he isn't going today" is what I make myself believe instead of "Hmm we must not have class today." I pretty much knew the latter was true, but I climbed up the 3 sets of stairs anyway just to make sure. VIOLA! A sign on the door- Class is Canceled. Sweet. Fortunately my comp class was also canceled. So I got up at 6. Got on the bus at 7:45. Got to campus at 8:20 and my class doesn't start until 11:30.
  

• Lola and Mischa are still gone. On Wednesday it will be a week. The hurricane remnants are traveling up to Charlotte and we had really bad, rainy, windy weather for a few days. All the signs we put up are useless, so we have to put out more. I would really like my dogs back.

Dooms Day

The anxiety is kicking in about my court date on Monday. What if something really terrible happens and the judge throws me in cuffs and I end up in jail eating bread and water and showering with twenty other convicts in a communal shower? I feel like acting really crazy in front of the judge. I think I'll sob the entire time. I don't mean shed a few tears, I mean hardcore, hyperventilating wails. Orange definitely is not my color and I feel like jail uniforms are very scratchy. Just thinking about wearing one gives me anxiety. On a brighter note Grey's returns to my sad little life tomorrow night. This gives a whole new meaning to the song lyrics "Hold on for one more day." Word to the wise: Never drink an entire bottle of "Pink Truck" pink wine by yourself. You will black out and yell at the guy you like on the street for no good reason. You will also wake up with bar scars and no recollection of how they got there. Your best friend will relay stories about the ridiculous voicemails you left her in the wee hours of the night. I must retire to my bed for now but a little announcement before we part ways:

IF ANYONE READING THIS IS IN THE CHARLOTTE NC AREA... PLEASE KEEP A LOOK OUT FOR LOLA & MISCHA. LOLA IS A LIGHT BROWN AND MISCHA IS WHITE. THEY DO NOT HAVE COLLARS AND THEY GOT OUT OF THE YARD THIS AFTERNOON.

To you, impatient Bass girls

During this time of economic hardship I have been doing a few things to save money. I gave Oliver a bath and a hair cut today. Instead of getting my eyebrows waxed for a whopping $20, I pluck them myself. My mom has been packing my lunch every morning and putting it in a My Little Pony reusable lunch box. I have also been using public transportation to get downtown every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Now I must admit Oliver's haircut looks ridiculous. My eyebrows are a bit uneven and I look like a total fool getting on the bus with my Pinky Pie Pony lunch box, but nothing compares to the people that I ride the bus with. A few days ago there was a woman who was clearly intoxicated sitting next to a business man. The bus stopped and because of good ole inertia (Shout out to Mrs. Gladeux) the woman didn't. She fell into the lap of the man next to her. He looked at her. He Looked around. He looked back at her. And then he just sat there. After a good 45 seconds the woman sat up and didn't acknowledge that anything had just happened. A huge smile grew across the face of the man. He looked at me with a, "WTF just happened?" look on his face. At that point I had to put my hands over my face because I was laughing so hard. Another one of my personal faves was the guy that walked up and down the isle rapping. My good man, you are not at the VMA's. You are riding the bus to go downtown. Please try to control yourself. Another man that sticks out has a greasy bowl cut, dirty finger nails and shifty eyes. I can't help but to stare at him. Each new day brings forth new shenanigans.

Quote of the day- "Wouldn't you rather be tazed?"

212 Troup Ave.

Everyone loves a good board game. It's for this reason I ask you to take yourself way back in the day to the good ole' days and fond memories of the game of Life. You know you've played it. Don't deny that there was once a day that you cheated on a space or two just to be able to place those little pink peg twins in your tiny plastic caravan. In the game of Life you get an option of three cards for possible houses. You close your eyes and hope that you don't reach for the house that no one wants any part of. The Split-Level. The Split-Level "Was one level before the 'quake. Now a real fixer-upper for adventurous folks!" It's real estate value comes out as a whopping 40 g's. Am I posting this to take a jog down memory lane with you about the game of Life? Absolutely not. I'm posting this as a continuation on my previous post about karma. All those times I cheated in Life, making sure I never obtained the diminutive card revealing the Split-Level finally came back to bite me in the ass. I now dwell in a place quite similar to that dreaded $40,000 valued card. The good news is it was built before the 70's posing a threat to the tenants because of the possibility of lead-based paint. Perfect. We call it the Doll House. Not because we're so vain as to consider ourselves as faultless as dolls, no... simply because a full grown man could not stand upright in the kitchen without dusting the ceiling with his head. There's a hill in my bedroom. The floor is so warped that you can literally push a chair through the open door and it will roll with forceful acceleration towards the opposite wall. Word of the wise: If you ever endure the pleasure of visiting the Doll House I would highly recommend that you do not stand in one end of the house and try to look at the other end. Unfortunately, the walls are inverted and you will feel like you are in some sort of carnival fun house. Looking back to the good ole' days of the game of Life, in retrospect maybe I should have welcomed the Split-Level with open arms (or lack there of since those little peg people don't have any appendages) seeing as I now inhabit a midget version of it. Welcome home.

Transition to Taoism

       Yet another divinely moving lecture from my favorite professor Mr. David Sears has lead me to my latest revelation. Taoism; why aren't you and I in the game? The Tao is the way. The way is living in harmony through balance of nature, the world, and yourself. The world is. Relax and follow the concepts. Shit happens. Appreciate the positive and negative aspects of life. Keep everything balanced. Confused?
Me too. Breaking it down a little further: Taoists believe you should always keep the aspects of everyday life in balance. For example, if you're tired you should sleep. If you're hungry you should eat. Think of it this way... dogs do things where and when they want to do it. If they are hungry they eat when they want, take naps when they want, and exert energy through running whenever they please to do so. So you and I should adopt the lifestyle of a Border Collie? According to the Tao, (the way) ..yes. Practicing Taoism means sleeping whenever you want to sleep. For example setting your alarm and forcing yourself to wake up is throwing off your balance, hence clogging your chi. If you're searching for the final destination of immortality you most definitely do not want to clog up your chi, my friends. Here's the sitch... we all convert to Taoism. We sleep in until whenever our mind/bodies feel like it, eat only when we're hungry, and meditate. Throw in a little Jiu-Jitsu in the front yard all we'll all be on our way to nirvana. We'll reach the maximum benefit with the minimum amount of effort. I went to court this morning to ask the judge for a continuance pending my case of three misdemeanors in the first degree. I got a two-week layover. I could either a) stress out for two weeks anticipating my fate in the Bowling Green Municipal Court on the morning of September 24th, or b) I could go take a nap because that's what my body is telling me to do and I don't want to clog my chi. I think I'll shoot for the latter of the two. Wu-Wei.

Can you help me unravel my latest mistake?

Before you read this post, be totally and completely aware that I realize if I continue down this path I will more than likely turn out to be the woman in this picture in about fifty years.


So here's a little story for ya that might turn your frown upside down. It appears as though all four years of exceeding at least ten over the speed limit on the expressway without getting so much as a warning finally caught up with me last night at about midnight. I should have taken Thursday's Arts & Sciences class with Dr. David Sears a little more seriously. Instead of counting the number of tiles on the ceiling next to me, in retrospect maybe I should have been paying attention to his incredibly rivoting lecture on karma. I vaguely recall him asking the class whether we believe in karma as I was slipping in and out of a day dream about the night to come's festivities. A few of my fellow peers said yes, and a few said no. I remember thinking... "I would like to believe in karma, but i think it's bullshit." I'm pretty sure that was the only thought that processed in my head during the entire hour and fifteen minute class in our 95 degree classroom. It looked like my roommate Sara wasn't paying much attention to our whack-job professor either so I decided to dose back off into my adventures in la-la land, conveniently ignoring the history behind karma. Enough jibber-jabber here come's the good stuff.

Scene: My House
Time: 11:45 p.m.
Day: Thursday
Scenerio: We started drinking at about nine so at this point I was feeling pretty fuzzy. After about seven different binge drinking games I decided to take a walk next door and visit my favorite Troup Avenue neighbors. I departed my house with a half-full can of luke warm Natural Light (you're jealous already)and I crossed the sidewalk to reach my destination of our neighbor's front porch. One of the 84 guys who lives there then proceeds to ask me if our house has any extra beer pong balls. Well I made like Statefarm and wandered my way back home to be a good neighbor and retreive a ball so they could play beer pong. I get home, grab the ball, and head back out the door. I'm handing the ball to one of the neighbors when I here "Miss!" from behind me. I reluctantly turn around, and wince to see two friendly little coppers just awaiting my response. I stroll right up to them as if I didn't do anything and find out they watched me cross the sidewalk with my open beer. Perfect. To make a long story short: My age went from 22, to 21, to 20, I pinky promised one of the police officers, asked one of them if they had a tazer, didn't get taken to jail because I have blonde hair, and ended up with a ticket citation for Underage Posession, Open Container, and here's the real kicker... Falsification. I have a court date on Wednesday, September 10th. Details to come…

Just put it on my tab of most ridiculous mistakes made since the day I was born.

Moral of the story: "They really weren't kidding when they said karmas a bitch."